The Devil's Own
by Lidsworth
Summary: Mikhail reminisces on his life, his hopelessness of God, and his eventual acceptance of his own personal Devil. His Uncle. Through his senseless thoughts, he realizes that he is indeed a very lonely, very miserable man. Perhaps a visit to China in search of a certain somebody could lift his spirits? Or perhaps it could do the exact opposite.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I was re-reading the Honk Kong arc, and decided to write a little something for an under-appreciated character, Mikhail. This is my first time writing about him (though I seriously think he needs a lot more appreciation), so please give some useful feedback. **

**(Takes place after the Honk Kong arc, like, when he's back in Russia)**

**Summary: Mikhail reminisces on his life, and his disbelief of God, and his eventual acceptance of the Devil. (Mikhail Centric) **

**If you like Yuri, you're not going to like this story. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Finder Series. **

They found Yuri, _alive, _but barely breathing. After the beating he'd taken from vicious waves, his only chance of survival was a strategic surgery. The outcome balanced atop of a needle point. It could go anyway.

With little consideration, Mikhail had given his team of private doctors the okay to perform the procedure, and now an hour later, the young Russian thought of his decision while sitting atop of a bar stool.

He thought about his decision to allow the devil to carve its way back into his own heart. He wondered what he would take this time.

Mikhail tightened his hand around the small shot of cool vodka, and took the drink quickly.

Over the years, his stomach had grown accustomed to the hard taste of the alcohol. Seldom did he require preparation, or even a tiny meal, before hand.

The burning sensation drained into his throat like waning lava. The fire remained, it burned, but it wasn't strong enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

So he took another shot, and another.

When the small intakes of vodka did not suffice, he drank straight from the bottle, anchoring the liquid in deep, slow gulps.

It burned, but it was the _good _kind of burn. It was the burn that Mikhail had grown so accustomed to.

The burn he yearned for.

At the same time, another scorching passion erupted throughout his body. Nights like these, when he allowed himself to think about _himself, _then he could feel the sensation of skin being torn and carved into, twisted and raised against is own will.

He smiled a raw leer, the mere reminiscent hurt so _good_

The rawness of his throat returned to him, and the urge to scream throttled at full force. He could practically envision those rough calloused hands tying him to the bed, feel the weight of the world upon his shoulders as he was forced on his stomach.

This, all a result of a dirtied church outfit.

Years ago, when accidentally stepping into a mud puddle, while on his way to church, a young Mikhail had never expected his white clothing to become completely soiled. His father would never allow him to parade into the Lord's house in such an uncaring manner, so he forced his son to make the long walk back to the mansion and change.

Yuri had been waiting in the mansion, as the older man had been feeling ill and planning to attend a later service.

But apparently, Mikhail's rushed wardrobe change had rebuked the ailment that had befallen Yuri away, and the beast inside of him was aroused by his nephew's angelic beauty.

Mikhail's white attire hadn't been the only object soiled that day.

When it was over, Mikhail had been blamed by his sadistic uncle, and punished for his "sinful" ways.

The white mattress had been painted in crimson blood, as well as other bodily fluids. His alabaster skin had been littered in bruises and cuts, and he could feel a raw ache throbbing in between his tender thighs.

He could smell the pungent scent of sex. Taste the salty liquid mixed with his own siliva that trickled out of the corners of his mouth, as he was reduced to a panting heap

Mikhail had lost more than blood. He lost his sanity, his virginity, and his faith. He had lost it all to his sadistic uncle.

So he himself found it amusing when a bewildered Yuri had turned to his ravaged nephew, and struck the boy across his face for his insolent laughing.

But what idiot couldn't laugh? Mikhail had a blast at the realization of his shitty situation.

It really was ironic, the entirety of it. He had been sent away from Church, which was God's home, to his own mansion, where the Devil lay.

Perhaps God had it out from him since the very beginning? Perhaps Yuri's violation of his only nephew had baptized him into a world of scandal and sin?

Perhaps-

"Sir, would you like some water?" a concerned bartender peered over the counter, "you look out of it."

And he did, he could tell. But he didn't care.

He gave hearty chuckle and leaned over the counter with his arms, "I'm in no need of such a liquid, my friend! Something potent! Perhaps another vodka, the strongest you've got?"  
The bartender nodded, and left Mikhail with a well rehearsed, "Excellent choice, sir."

He looked into his empty bottle, and inhaled the pungent scent of the alcohol. He smiled a quirky smirk as he brought the hollow object to his lips, and tilted his head back, scavenging for at least a small drip.

Nothing, nothing but the smell, nothing but its destruction.

It would disappear soon, just as the seething hate he felt for his uncle always The addiction would be reinforced with another bottle of strong vodka, with another plate of wealth and promise, wealth that his uncle insured.

Mikhail was a sucker for power, and exactly like the Devil, his Uncle offered him all sorts of power in different ways. He would be a fool to turn it down.

The sound glass coming into contact with the wooden counter pulled him from his thoughts, and his awkward pose.

The young boy cleared his throat as he slid Mikhail his bottle, "Your Vodka, sir-"

"Care to share with me," Mikhail teased, pouring a bit into his shot, "you take how much, I don't mind."  
The bartender gave a stir at Mikhail's sudden offer, and hurried to retrieve himself a glass .

Mikhail watched him go into the back, no doubt bragging to his mates about his encounter.

The Russian smiled. He was spared the luxury of a happy childhood. After the death of his parent's, his Uncle had assured that.

Mikhail was something that Yuri's own son was not, a personal puppet. And since the day Dmitri had stormed out of the house over thirty years ago, neither Yuri nor Mikhail had seen him.

Mikhail hoped the selfish bastard was dead.

Suddenly, the boy came bouncing back into the lobby, a sheepish grin gracing his features, a small cup dangling in his hand.

Mikhail wondered what kind vices would destroy the soul before him.

Standing up, the boy poured a bit of vodka into his own bottle.

Mikhail chuckled darkly, "_Surely_, you can down more than that, it won't hurt."

Most likely aware of the dangerous associated, the young boy showed no intention of backing down before his superior, and dared to pour himself a full glass.

Like a school boy trying to impress a girl, with faulty determination glued to his features, the boy brought the glass to his lips and chugged.

Seconds later, he was running to the back.

Mikhail suppressed a chuckle at the pitiful action. The boy was too weak.

"Never take what the devil offers you, boy," Mikhail stood up and placed a gracious amount of change on the wooden counter top, "You'll end up kicking yourself in the ass later on."

As he stood, he found a small part of him yearned for Yuri's death, yearned for the surgery to fail, or for some freak accident of nature to crush Yuri's slim chances of survival.

But the world was too cruel for those who had turned their backs on God.

His phone buzzed, and reluctantly he removed it form his pocket. A quick text from his secretary had confirmed his theory.

Yuri had survived.

But why would he not? Evil _always_ prevailed.

If a church boy could morph into a demon because of one small accident, than a madman could be spared the clutches of death, and free to reign his terror on the world once again.

A _frown _graced his features, and Mikhail felt eerily similar to the church boy who had lived all those years ago.

What would he give, how far would he go, to purge his taxing kinship with _his _own personal devil?

Would he be willing to throw away the wealth, throw away the power and money for a droplet of freedom?

Or was he too deep into hell to see the light?

With a vile chuckle, Mikhail leaned towards the latter. He was far too gone, the flames were practically licking his body.

Sure, his personal hell had caused him a little pain, but his fiery lair offered so much more then Heaven could offer on any given day. He may have been the Devil's own puppet on the inside, bound to Yuri's rules and exhausting "restrictions", bound to a memory that demolished him for all eternity, but in exchange for his innocence, he had it all. (Well, almost all. His eyes were resting on a piece of eye candy who many knew as Fei Long)

In Mikhail's world, _freedom _ never meant freedom anyway. It meant a false sense of security, and Mikhail would be damned if he allowed himself to contemplate on it for any longer.

He grew accustomed to the burns, he yearned to lick his own wounds.

He strove to remain in hell, because Mikhail Arbatov was the devil's own. And hell was all he knew.

While on the subject of terrible judgment, he supposed that both he, and the bustling youth, Akihito, had _very _much in common. They could "leave" the abyss, but freedom was a mere illusion, tempting and enticing, but nothing but a mirage.

The young photographer's heart would no doubt succumb to the darkness, to the _greed, _it was just a matter of time. Like any good pet, he'd crawl back to his master, Asami.

Both had their own personal Devil, taunting them, dictating their lives..._perhaps_, Mikhail thought to himself, _if we met another way..._

Shaking his head, he dispelled such thoughts from his brain. Friendship within the Underworld was an enemy in the making. Falling in love was an even riskier business.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**I honestly think evil is all Mikhail knows, and I believe a lot of that has to do with Yuri. Something happened, and he gave us a hint, so I elaborated on it a little bit. I hope you like it, and please, offer some criticisms. I changed a little bit for fanfiction. As for as Mikhail's little sadistic streak, I think he would do anything to amuse himself. **

**I've never had vodka before, but I have two Russian friends who have. The furthest i've tasted is red whine, and that's because i'm an altar server, and usually I get first dibs on a full chalice. With that being said, I know of the pain associated with drinking before you eat, and drinking _too _ much before you eat. Like I said before, I think this really needed to be done, Mikhail is a legit character that I think needs _way _more "sreen" time. Coincidentally, my Russian friend's name is Mikhail, though we all call him Micheal because the vowels are so stressed, and we butcher it when we say it. When I say his name, I try not to stress it so much, and end up saying something like: Mee-kai-ale, and that's as good as I can get. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm elaborating on the past I created for him in the first chapter, though it is a little mixed-matched. So the first part of this chapter is a memory. It takes place when Mikhail is 13 years old. Dmitri is 28. **

**Mikhail as a young child may seem a little OOC, Dmitri may seem like a jerk, and Yuri may seem delusional...please review, and tell me what you think. **

**Warnings: implied rape. Fei Long and Mikhail (kinda, but not really). Enjoy **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the VF series. **

"Is your back feeling alright now?" The oldest of the two blonds decided to break the awkward silence that ate away at his conscience. Presently, he had stood against the wall, and rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels. His gaze was locked onto his feet, where the skin was covered in thick socks, and expensive, leather dress shoes.

As the summer days grew longer, and unbearably hotter, the church allowed its members to wear dress shorts, as long as their socks came up to their knee caps. The cotton blazer, and the white, oxford polo, however, were not optional.

Dmitri had contemplated gone to church, however, he adorned a worn out pair of jeans, and a raggedy T-shirt. His glasses were slightly tilted from years of use, and his curly, blond hair had fallen into his face. He wondered how his father would fare, if he walked into God's house looking nothing short of a common bum off the corner of the street.

Before Dmitri had left and was still living in Russia, their small world revolved around the church, and its teachings. To disobey the church meant to disobey God. Therefore, even the smallest thought to skip church in itself was categorized as a venial sin.

Skipping it was mortal. Therefore, it was official that both Mikahil and Dmitri were going to hell.

However, burning in hell was not one of Dmitri's biggest concerns now, in fact, it hardly bothered his conscience. No, the boy, who sat shirtless in the bed, wrapped from the thighs, up to his chest with white bandages-that was his concern.

Mikhail hadn't spoken since the accident with his uncle, Dmitri's father. And up until now, no one had attempted to understand his side of the story.

So he just stopped talking completely.

"...did he do it...again?" Chanced the young adult, as he pushed himself off of the wall, and trotted towards his selective mute cousin, "was it Yuri again?"

The mention of the teen's father seemed to garner some sort of emotion from the younger boy on the bed, as he grabbed the sheets slightly as an indicator of obvious discomfort.

"Listen, we'll pack your bags, get you a passport, and i'll take you away with me. Listen, I live in-"  
"It's okay, nothing is going to work anyway," said the younger boy, as he fiddled his hands within the white fabric, "they'll always find me."

The teenager sighed, "Mikhail, you're being stupid! Come with me, forget this place, okay. I did it, and so can you. I'm trying to help-"  
"You could've "helped" me by staying here, in Russia, so this damned family business wouldn't fall on me! But no! You had to run off and go to med school, get disowned, and -"

"Because running a mafia family helps people," interrupted the older man, "Our family is a sin, Mikhail! Do what I did, and leave, i'm giving you a damn choice! Without a succesor, the family will just disappear, let's just go! I'm sorry I left you, I really am. And I'm sorry all of this-" he pointed to his cousin's state, "happened to you, but I can't fix what's been done. However, I can fix the future. All you have to do is say 'yes', Mkhail, and you'll be free!"

The younger blond looked away, and sighed, "It's not that simple...you know...Mother used to say "once you get a drop of Vodka, you can't get enough"...it's like that..."

Dmitiri tilted his head, "S-so, you're telling me you liked the forced sex my _father _puts you through? Is that what-"  
"I didn't fucking say that!" A feral shrill resounded throughout the small hospital room, and the echo once again died down into a silent, internal nagging.

Dmitri, startled by his cousin's outburst, slowly regained himself, "So what is it you like then? The money?"

"Yes"

Dmitri raised an eyebrow, "The wealth?"

"Yes..."  
"The fame-"

" ! And YES! I like it all Dmitri, for fucks sake, I love it! Without Yuri, I can't get any of it! Don't you see why I can't leave now?"  
Dmitri smiled a sad smile, looked at his feet, and began to quote,

"Again, the devil took Him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor."All this I will give you," he said, "if you will bow down and worship me." Sound familiar?"  
"Shut up! Stop talking to me like i'm some sinner! You sound just like him-"

"Oh Christ. I'm his son, of course I sound like him! But unlike him, i'm trying to save you, not torment you! And for the record, Mikhail, we're all sinners! Even Yuri!"

Mikhail ignored his cousin's reasoning, and continued to babble on about his uncle, "'You're a sinner' 'You're flaunting yourself' 'You're a filthy whore' How! How am I any of those?! If you're so much like him, why can't you answer me?"

The younger male was nearly out of his bed, grabbing on to the sheets, and his voice resounding throughout the white room, his voice pleading for an answer.

Dmitri groaned in annoyance, "What do you want me to tell you? Huh? I'll say this once more time, come with me to America, you'll be safe. We can leave Russia behind, you can start over Mikhail! This has been going on for far too long! And damn me for not intervening earlier, but i'm here now! For the first time in years, _I am here_ for you, and no one else," Dmitri had walked over to his cousins bed, and sat on the soft fabric, "Just come with me."

The older blond brought a hand to his cousins face, and gently traced a finger around the soft cheek. Mikhail sighed, and melted into his cousin's sensual touch. Before he knew it, his head was resting against his cousin's large chest.

Listening to the steady heartbeat, the young Russian found himself dosing off into the sleep. Meanwhile, Dmitri brought a gentle hand to his cousin's bandaged back, and began to rub his hands up and down the growing welts.

The young boy responded with a hiss, and arched his back as Dmitri's fingers came into contact with the tender skin.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," replied the teen, "I'm okay."

Dmitri nodded, and pulled his cousin closer to him. Slowly, he worked his hands up the bandages, and to the tight shoulders. With delicate fingers, customary of that of a doctor, Dmitri skillfully began relieving the stress that had long accumulated in his cousin's shoulders.

Mikhail sighed and felt his strength edging away as his cousin's magicla hands peeled away stress with each and every press of his thumb.

Despite their awkward position, Dmitri was making excellent progress. As the physical pressure melted away, so did the emotional pressure.

Ten minutes into the massage, Dmitri's shirt was soaking wet with salty tears.

Mikhail trembled with despair below him, and it took everything the young teen had not to scream out in frustration.

"I..it hurt so much," cried the boy, "when he...when he..."  
Dmitri sighed and pulled his cousin closer, "I know, Mikhail. I know. You don't have to say anything, just come to America with me, alright?"

The young Russian sniffled, and looked up towards his cousin's piercing blue eyes, "I c-can't! It's like i'm addicted!"

"Addicted to what Mikhail?" The young man's voice was calm, and soothing, "What are you addicted to?"

"Everything! I-it's not fair that I have to leave and lose it all!" he shouted, finally, in pure frustration, "And it's not fair that I have to be tormented to keep it! Yuri is delusional! W-why c-can't I just...ugh, this is so screwed up."

"Kill Yuri, he wouldn't see it coming," replied the older male, "he wouldn't suspect it even."

Mikhail looked up at his cousin with tear stained eyes, "B-but he's your father-"

"No, he is not my father...not anymore at least." Dmitri rubbed a stray tear from his cousin's rosy cheek, "Come with me, sweetheart," he called the young boy by the name given to him by his parents, "we can get you away from the devil."

Suddenly, the door swung open, and the said devil walked into the room. Mikhail gasped, while Dmitri turned a fiery gaze at his father. Detaching himself form his cousin, Dmitri hopped off of the bed, and stood tat full height.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you some sort of animal!?" the young man was snarling at his father, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to punch Yuri in the face, "What on earth gave you the right to tear up his back with a broken bottle? What on earth did he do to deserve that?"

Yuri looked taken aback at the sight of his M.I.A son, but quickly regained his posture, "Who informed you of his condition?"  
"No one needed to in form me! You're an abusive pig, do you think i'd really just abandon my cousin like that? I check up on him every once in a while, and hell, he doesn't see me, but i'm there! Yuri," breathed the Russian, "Why?"

"The boy needs to be taught a lesson! As did you, but what does it matter how you are disciplined boy? You are no son of mine," spat the older man, "I could call security on you, and have you out of here in a heartbeat."

"Then call then call them, Yuri! Not that it will make a difference anyway. I am taking Mikhail with me to America!"

Silence ensued shortly after the proud declaration, though the tension still hung high in the air.

Suddenly, Yuri's features transformed into a rather feral expression, customary of that of a wild animal. He narrowed his eyes at the young teen sitting on the bed, and made to take a step forward.

Dmitri moved as well, obscuring his Father's gaze from his cousin.

"_Go" _Hissed Dmitri, "You're not wanted here, go!"

Yuri was upon Dmitri in a second, and had taken his son by surprise. With the force of a lion, he back handed his son out of the way. The force sent Dmitri's glasses flying into the wall, crashing into tiny pieces. Dmitri staggered, but he didn't fall.

The look on his face was just as startling as Yuri's, and Mikhail grabbed his sheets tighter as the two madmen sized each other up.

"So what have you done to him?" Began Yuri, "What offer have you presented him with?"

"Freedom" Spat Dmitri, "And what In God's name do you have to offer?"

Yuri smiled, and his gaze shifted to the boy on the bed, "I suppose nothing as good as freedom," his voice dropped an octave, and rolled off of his tongue, long and steady, "Wealth...guidance..._but_ I suppose of Mikhail is going with you, than I should retrieve a new heir for the fami-"  
"No!"

Yuri smiled. Dmitri looked shocked. Mikhail looked away.

Yuri stepped forward, and smiled, "Good boy. Know your place," he turned towards Dmitri, and back to Mikhail, "With proper discipline and instruction, we can avoid any further accidents-"  
"W-What the hell Yuri, get away from him!" Dmitri walked towards Mikhail, and grabbed his cousin by the shoulders, "Mikhail, you don't want this! You want to come to America, with me! Don't you!"

"I-"  
"He wants to receive what you gave up, and what is rightfully his," came Dmitri's father, "Your freedom only promises hardships and trials, with me Mikhail will receive what he deserves."

Wealth. Money. Power.

The boy was attracted to those things like a shark to a bloodied diver. He wanted it, he _needed it. _Dmitri's freedom was nothing compared to the vast surplus of wealth that Yuri could offer. Dmitri backed away from Mikhail slowly, as the look of greed filled his eyes.

"M-Mikhail, did everything I said mean...did it mean nothing to you?" Stuttered Dmitri in disbelief, "Mikhail, look at me!"

"It's okay..." breathed the Russian, "I'm okay. I'd like to stay here, in Russia."  
Yuri smiled a quirky smile. He expected it.

"Good choice," Spoke the Russian man. He turned to his son, "Be gone now, boy. Hurry before I _do _call security on you."

Dmitri choked on his words, "M-Mikhail, are you serious?"

The boy took a sharp gulp of air, and turned a blank gaze towards his cousin, "Just go Dmitri. You left me before, you could do it again. Besides, i'm not going to abandon our family like you did, I'm-"

"Ugh, for fuck's sake, you two can go fuck yourselves for all I care," and with that, Dmitri turned hot on his heels, and left the room.

That was the last time Mikhail saw his cousin.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Twelve years had passed since that day, and it seemed that Dmitri had been very busy throughout his medical life. He had managed to gain one of the head positions at an exceptional chain of renowned hospitals, and had been credited as a notable neurologist who had accomplished a great number of successful brain surgeries.

Why he decided to torture himself by keeping up with his cousin's life, Mikhail didn't know.

But he found some sense of closure in knowing that his refusal to go with him to America all those years ago hadn't crushed his soft heart.

No, if anything, it had made Dmitri stronger. If anything, Dmitri probably hated him.

Sitting in some rundown bar in the middle Honk Kong, Mikhail gazed at the old television that hung high above the counters.

On the screen ailed with static, he watched as the news channel opened with a scene of a large hall, filled with white lab coats and suits.

Mikhail sighed. This year, a celebration was being held for the accomplishments of young, aspiring doctors from numerous Chinese hospitals. Because they had excelled in the company owned by Dmitri, his cousin was here, in China.

The blond tilted the glass bottle upwards, and allowed the stale beer to flow into his mouth dry. He sighed after the bottle had been drowned.

Nothing in China could get him drunk enough to forget...well, no drink anyway.

It was more of a drug. _He _was more of a drug, and by stepping into his territory to catch a glance at his cousin, Mikhail may have just risked his life.

It was just a matter of time before his presence was-

Suddenly, cool metal pressed firmly into the back of his blond head. Around him, the bar had become strangely vacant.

So he had been found already.

Mikhail sighed, and slowly looked over his shoulder.

No matter how many times he prepared himself to meet him, no matter the situation, Mikhail would never get used to seeing Fei Long. Even the smallest glance cast at the Chinese man caused his heart to flip, and jump inside of his hollow chest like a fish out of water.

Often times, in the few occasions where he and Fei Long actually confronted one another, he wondered what fluttering motions the Chinese's man's heart made. If they made any at all.

"What are you doing in China?" Hissed the leader of Baishi, "Answer. Now. And I do not have time for your games."

What did he do to get Fei Long to hate him so much? And why on earth did Fei Long himself show up to dispose of Mikhail. _Dispose? _That was a little harsh, wasn't it.

"I am simply spying on a ghost from my past," replied the Russian with a smug expression, "Do not worry, lovely, I'm not interested in you today."  
Perhaps his tone was too harsh, perhaps Lui Fei Long was so egotistic, that Mikhail's sudden and casual_very casual dismissal, shocked him to his very core.

The barrel of the gun pressed on Mikhail's forehead, and behind the trigger stood a very pissed off Chinese man. Had Mikhail traveled all this way just to make a fool out of him? He wouldn't be surprised if he had.

"Do not call me lovely! Answer me, why are you really here? I do not believe your silver-tongue Mikhail, you are an expert at lying." Spat Fei Long, "Do not make me shoot you, you're presence-"  
"Shooting me would actually help me, trust me," interrupted the Russian rather bluntly , "If you're that annoyed of me, then just do it."

Fei Long narrowed his eyes dangerously at the Russian man, though an uneasy feeling erupted in his gut. Something about Mikhail was off, and it irked Fei Long that he could not put his finger on it. This man, who had known him inside and out, he knew nothing of. That pissed him off more than anything.

However, the sensation of despair and misery leaking off of the usually merry man below him had left him slightly disturbed and concerned.

He didn't know what to do. But killing him wasn't an option. Something had changed in those blue eyes, and it unsettled Fei Long greatly.

"Get out of here, Mikhail. I do not want to kill you," he spoke softly, as his gun fell to his side, "Just stay out of my territory until you have notified me." Fei Long was surprised at his sudden handling of the situation. It was not in his nature to allow such an offense to be forgiven so easily. He was in complete disbelief of himself.

Mikhail took the warning as his signal to leave, and for the first time in ages, he avoided Fei Long's gaze as he headed out of the bar.

Completely taken aback by the wayward notion, Fei Long reached out to grab the Russian's arm.

For a second, time stopped for the two of them, and Mikhail looked over his shoulder and at Fei Long.

"Are you alright, Mikhail?"

The Russian smiled.

"Do not worry about me," the blond softly pulled his arm away from Fei Long, "It's okay. I'm okay."

And though Fei Long could never dissect the compact psyche that made Mikhail, he knew full well that Mikhail was not okay.

And in all honesty, he had no idea why he even cared. Perhaps, that's why he refused to stop him, as he went outside, and into the street.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**Oh! I'm sorry, thank you, someone pointed it out! I _do _know that Russia is indeed Orthodox, and i'm very familiar with the split in the Church. I just like the comparison regarding the sin types! I'm sorry! But Russia is not Catholic. **

**In the Catholic church, there is a hierarchy of sins, so to speak. **

**Venial- Like stealing a cookie, it's not that bad. It can be forgiven with reconciliation. **

**Mortal-Killing someone, something bad (and up until recently, suicide and not keeping holy the Sabbath were considered mortal sins). A mortal sin cuts you off from God completely. Or so they say. **

**Those are just the two I used in this story.**

**As for his relationship with Fei Long, in all honesty, I can't see them being "happy" together. It would be a toxic pair. I don't exactly ship Fei Long and Mikhail (fun fact, I have a Russian friend named Mikhail. He told us to call him Micheal, and up until he spelled it for me, I didn't know it was spelled so strangely, and it's pronunciation is different as well). Thank you for the reviews, and I wanted to draw off of the idea of a sadistic Yuri, and at the same time, keep the bible allusion up. I hope you enjoyed it, and someone recommended that I start writing more for Mikhail. I probably will, he's pretty neat. **

**Anyway, have a wonderful summer. And forgive me for any mistakes, take care, and if you're curious, I am currently working on a new chapter of Black Sheep, and should have that out later this week. Afterwards, I'll finish another chapter of Gone. God bless!**


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